


Right, Baby?

by wrothmothking



Category: Alien Series
Genre: Actually let's just pretend canon never happens..., M/M, Pre-Canon, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-07 21:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrothmothking/pseuds/wrothmothking
Summary: Brett was smitten at the first smile, the first 'baby', so finding out the pet name applied to everyone was...disappointing.





	Right, Baby?

"C'mon, baby, the food ain't that bad," Parker laughs, rubbing Kane's back to ease the ache from his coughing.

Brett freezes. Until this moment, he'd thought 'baby' meant him. A flirt. An affection.

Parker glances to him, and his smile turns brittle, his eyes crinkling in concern. Brett forces himself to relax, forces his lips to upturn into something he knows stops short at a grimace. So, he'd read too much into it. That's okay. Not like he'd daydreamed about how exactly he'd take the man up on his offer. (Except he had.) Not like he had plans for a half dozen dates or a list of potential gifts he thought Parker'd like. (Except he did.) Friends they were, friends they would remain, and he'd be glad for having Parker in his life all the same.

The conversation continues around him as he sulks. Brett's never been much of a contributor, and the only one to glance long enough at him to notice his sudden gloom is the one he fears discussing it with. But the question will wait until they're alone, sequestered in the underbelly of the ship, so he has time to think up an excuse.

Parker says something to him, including him as always, and it's with a byte of guilt he croaks, "Right," without affording the brain power to turn the noise into meaning.

Breakfast breaks up, the bridge crew going one way and Parker and Brett another. Brett lets Parker pull him into his side as always, the warmth of his body and the weight of his hand upon his shoulder sparking a blush he hopes the sparse light and shadow of his hat hide.

"You good, baby?"

"Fine." He shrugs. "Ish. Cryo hit me worse than usual. I think I'm getting a migraine."

Loud and meaning to be, Parker says, "You know you're a terrible liar, right? You go all blank when you try." Softer: "You don't have to tell me."

Brett frowns. "I want to."

"But you don't know how?"

He nods. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, and doesn't let go.

"You figure it out, let me know."

"Right."

The ship handles landing fine. It's big, and awkward, and a tad old, so whether it will or not is a familiar concern whenever they land on terrain that isn't one hundred percent flat. Of course things go well when Brett's actually looking forward to working.

Before too long, they're back in space, towing a mountain of cargo from the refinery. And in that small breath they spent planetside, Brett made no progress untangling his...romantic feelings from the cesspool of nerves and anxieties. Logically, he knows it's ridiculous. A little one-sided attraction isn't going to ruin them, and given time it would fade on its own--once he was rejected. Leaving it alone, burrying the problem before that could make it worse. Act the adult he is and confess so he can drop it. It would only be weird if he made it weird.

He finds Parker in the rec room, leafing through a magazine. Sitting across from him, Brett grabs one for himself, flicking through the pages. The pictures are boring, the text indecipherable mush, but

Brett keeps going, biding his time. Eventually, Parker looks up and notices his frown.

"Nothin' good?"

"Nope," he confirms, popping the 'p'. "I think I've got it, if you've got a minute."

Parker tosses the magazine down the table. "Yeah, I think I can spare one."

"Okay, so, I don't expect nothing from you. Alright?"

"Alright?" Parker agrees, dubious, eyes narrowed.

"I like you. Romantically," Brett says, slow and carefully-enunciated. The words and their sentiment make him feel a third his age and foolish, too.

It takes a moment for them to register. Parker's lips purse, perfectly kissable. The hum of the machine they're living in is deafening. But then his face smooths out, and those lips part to bare teeth white as snow. Not a sneer--a smile.

"Oh, you do, huh? Like me. Romantically."

Brett's face burns, but he holds eye contact, crosses his arms about his chest. He's affronted.

"Baby, no, I'm not trying to tease."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

Parker's hand lands atop his, carelessly intimate. Or, Brett thinks, as Parker takes a steadying breath, inching forward in his seat, not carelessly at all.

It's a hope he doesn't dare feed, fluttering like a hummingbird betwixt his lungs.

Their fingers curl.

"I'm just trying to enjoy the moment. Not every day the man you've been after for months up and confesses to you out of the blue."

'Been after'? "So, you like me too?" Brett's brows furrow. "Romantically." Perhaps no longer such a necessary addendum, but the syllables float nice off the tongue, a small comfort.

"Yeah, yeah, I do." His mouth curves further into the biggest grin Brett's seen on him. "Romantically."

"I thought you weren't trying to tease me."

"Well, maybe just a little." He laughs, but he's quick to sober. "Ain't no harm, right, baby?"

"Right."

"And if I should kiss you now, that'd be no harm, too, right, baby?"

"Right," Brett smiles.

It's the best kiss he's had in longer than he cares to remember. 


End file.
